Beyond Your Shadow's Reach
by Jess Idres
Summary: The reset of Big Venus has come and gone, leaving the world as it once was, with only the key players knowing what has happened before. Dorothy Wayneright faces an unknown future, as she tries to make her own way in this city of Amnesia, beyond the shadow of the man who cannot seem to love an android.
1. Weep not for the road untravelled

Dorothy let her vision drag over the the state of this other mansion she had once considered home. Now as well, she supposed somewhat mournfully. Her vocabulary would have to be updated.

The 'reset' had returned it to the time just after Dr. Wayneright had died. Big Venus, the mechanical god that seemed to be able to return the world of Paradigm to it's natural fugue state, had left the key players untouched, but the rest of the world had been returned, untouched by the destructive hands of the Bigs...and the Paradigm corporation as well. Rosewater's grimy fingerprints had been wiped clean from every inch of this house she had first 'awoken' to. Furniture still drawn back for her father… no, creator (for the thought of 'father' brought back painful data points), his notes and scribblings still openly sitting on an entrance table. If the reset had been set to a day earlier, or even a few hours, would he still be sitting in his armchair, scolding her for not heeding his warnings and making sure she was alright. A small, negative subprogram hypothesized that had been purposeful on the part of 'Big Venus'.

Perhaps it was fitting punishment for the android who'd dared to try and be level with man.

The reminders of the elderly man throughout the house made the loss filed in her databanks more prominent. If she had the understanding of the nuances of her emotional programing, she would describe it as an ache, shaking in her wires and circuits to an unknown core. But there was no one to help her understand. Not anymore.

She'd had a choice, of course; to return to the life she'd known for the past year. Big Venus- or at least, Angel- had seen to that. When Rog-...when her former benefactor/employer had made it clear her presence as a servant was no longer required, and her contract fulfilled, she knew that if she were to stay, she would be seen as nothing more than an unwanted burden. Seeing her laid bare at the hands of madmen had undoubtedly left the man convinced of her machine core, and she had no wish to return to the days of chastisement for 'mimicry' and 'pretending'.

Dorothy did the only thing she knew that had helped, when she had felt like this before, when she had dealt with her 'father's death the first time, and the loss of Pero. She threw her full processing power into cleaning the house of Wayneright, determined to reclaim even a little of lives she'd lost, both on that fateful night at the Nightingale and this morning, when she'd walked out the Smith household for the last time.

The drawing room had come first, filing her father's scribbles in his desk, cleaning floors and dusting all the surfaces. Dr. Wayneright had never wanted her to be a common household android for cooking and cleaning, but she had adapted quickly to her role at Smith mansion (if she didn't process their names, she could handle it-AngelNormanRogerRogerRoger brought back the painful ache to her memory circuits). When she was done, she found herself giving into an unknown temptation subroutine to remove the painting of the original Dorothy- the real girl she was supposed to have become- and placed it wrapped in newspaper in the back coat closet. A human gesture, but there was no one to complain of her 'imitating humans'. She would indulge the subprogram. The piano remained, its warm rosewood different enough for her to stand, but closed and locked, untouched.

Slowly, she moved through the house, filing each into her new life program as she cleaned. She stopped only to engage sleep for a few cycles and to eat the non-perishables still left in the pantry. Her limited taste sensors didn't mind the blandness, and the fuel staved offed concerns on income for quite a while yet. There was even a good store of high quality fuel in the coal shed attached to the kitchen. A stray line of reasoning suggested Dr. Wayneright had planned for the day she would be left alone like this, but she dismissed it quickly when it had suggested those results.

The laboratory fortress proved the greatest challenge of all. While the doors could be opened with her strength just by depressing the handles, she discovered Dr. Wayneright had used the nightingale's key to open them instead. She had found it in his desk, as she had been arranging papers, and later had recognised the shape as she made her way up to the imposing doors. She had to block the memory files of where the other copy of the key had been left, covered in snow to rust.

As she made her way through the mess of the scientist's half finished work, she recognized much of her own designs in the blueprints he'd been tinkering on. At first, she simply filed them away, well aware of each bolt and screw that made her different from a human. Further along, as she came upon his newer notes, she found the equations and designs catching her eyes more and more.

It should not have been a shock that her creator had planned more updates for her model, to better mimic the human mind and body. She noted that quite a few were almost finished, and explained various open ports and gaps in her subroutines that she had noted in her diagnostics. There were even scribbled information about her current state that she'd never known, sensors she had built with that had never been brought online.

She was mostly unfazed that she could follow her father's lines of thought so easily, understanding the diagrams and notations of each possible adjustment. She'd even started to continue the notations the doctor had left, correcting a decimal there and extrapolating an answer here. Part of her surmised her expertise in such matters were due, in fact, to her own mechanical nature. Another wondered if such pursuits had interested the girl she had been modelled after. Perhaps… perhaps she could, in time, continue some of these designs. She...well, it was, after all, Dr. Wayneright's legacy.

In theory, such a task would seem easy enough- following plans and diagrams is something androids had been doing since their inception. In practice, however, she knew that many of the working required quick thinking and improvisation and years of skill. If she truly knew emotions, she suspected she would observe her own hesitation as fear. It would take more than mere interest in Wayneright's work to spur her to act.

Such an event, however, came unbidden to her door a week into her return to the residence. She'd been carefully rewriting the late doctor's notes on touch and sensation when the doorbell sputtered, then clanged to life.

Who would be interested in the occupants of this house. Part of her worried that Paradigm had come to collect her and the secrets housed here, even though she suspected that Alex had abandoned his hopes of building his own Big after his own fall from grace. Beck was still locked away in prison, his dirty hands unable to reach her. Perhaps… no, the possibility of the negotiator (RogerRogerRaaaaaaaaw-geeeer) looking for her were almost 130,3075 to one. She was best to open the door and correct whoever was there that they had the wrong house.

She had not postulated, however, that her visitors would have been looking for Dr. Wayneright, so the harried man carrying an android in several pieces took a moment to register, even for Dorothy. "Hello, I believe you have the wrong address…" She paused, noting the pained look on the man's face, and the alarming injuries to the other android, "...are you in distress? Shall I call the Military Police for you?"

The man, probably in his 40s, looked at her in shock, before turning his head back and forth. "Oh, miss, I'm sorry! I was just looking for the robot engineer Dr. Wayneright, since Robbie here got run over-"

"Dr. Wayneright is dead." Her voice was flat, unfeeling, her own grief buried in her memory core. It was easier to say than accept, sometimes.

The man in front of her seemed to have enough emotion for the both of them, however. "What? Damn it! He was the only one who knew how to fix Robbie last time, and I can't take him to those quacks in the upper domes, they'll just dismantle him for parts… Oh, man, what am I going to-"

The man kept blabbering, but Dorothy was more interested in his robotic companion. The damage, while extensive, were relatively easily repaired with the tools up at the laboratory above. And the connections needed were similar to the repairs she'd often done in repairing the black megadeuce. "I can fix him."

"...and I'm just too old to do this alone- wait, what?" The man opened his mouth, shut it again, then blinked at her.

"I can repair your companion here. If you leave him here for the next 24 hours, I should be able to complete all the repairs necessary to keep restore him to functionality."

"You can?" The words seem to take several minutes to register in the man's mind. "Really? You really think so? That's wonderful! Were you….uh… Dr. Wayneright's apprentice or something?"

Her face betrayed no emotion. "Something like that."

The man handed her the pieces, delicately, as if each one was worth its weight in gold…. which was quite possible, in an age where the knowledge of true android creation was lost 40 years ago… or perhaps, a mere reset ago.

The worker android (Robbie, his companion had called him… and humans complained that androids had no imagination) could move somewhat with support. So with care, Dorothy got him to the lab with little incident.

She helped him to the operating table, arranging the pieces around Robbie to match where they would need to be reconnected. She wheeled over the torch, wire and toolkit, then sat down to work.

She managed to work faster than she had expected to - much of Robbie's damage was simply the need to reconnect this with that, and not need to actually rebuild the more intricate servos that worked his hands and feet. She regretted not taking down the man's number, to amend her original estimation of the time required.

With one last weld, Dorothy stepped back, flipped back the eye protectors (her eyes may be more accurate and sturdy than a human's, but overexposure could damage even her optic receptors), and admired her work. "Robbie, can you move your left arm for me, 40 degrees up, then each of your digits individually?"

The android did that and more, flexing the arm and examining her work up close. He seemed to approve. With both his fixed hands, he grasped hers in thanks.

Dorothy smiled, glad she had been able to give the android a second chance, like her father would have no doubt done. She was surprised when Robbie then made a series of noises that sounded like an attempt at speech. "Robbie, was there damage done your vocal output?" He nodded, almost ...sad, she postulated (in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a man she needed to forget). "Show me where."

He put her hand just under the left side of his metal jaw bone. Although she saw no external damage, she had little doubt that the android was correct in tracing the damage to the space indicated.

This was much more delicate work than she had planned for, but she knew that she owed it to this android, herself and her father to at least attempt at restoring the vocal functions. Such outputs were vital to alert companions and owners on the needs and issues of their function.

"Robbie, I cannot be completely positive that I can repair such damage, but I will try. In order to do so, I will need you to suspend your functions momentarily to get a better look. I will bring you online as soon as I can." Staying offline for long was an ingrained terror for all androids- if there was no one to 'wake' them, they were, effectively, dead.

Carefully, Dorothy removed the outer facial shell to lay bare the intricate workings of the neck and jaw. The connections seemed to be in order…. but the circuit board looked slightly corroded. Gently, she scraped the corrosion away, before noting the missing solder nodes and a single long crack along the board itself. Such work required an incredibly steady hand and attention to detail.

Luckily, Dorothy had both.

If not for own internal chronometer device, she would have been convinced the entire process took a hundred cycles. But in reality, it was a mere few hours between diagnosis to completion. She let out a quick burst of machine code, and relaxed as Robbie came back online.

"Testing, testing...oh, my word, it is good to speak again! Doctor, I cannot thank you enough!"

"You are welcome, however, I am not a doctor. That was my father." Dorothy did not look up from the toolbox as she put away the more intricate tools with care.

Robbie cocked his head at her, in a quizzical guesture. "But Simon had been looking for a Doctor Wayneright, who had fixed me before."

"Doctor Wayneright was my creator. I am just an android, like yourself."

Robbie shook his head and shifted up into a sitting position. "I have been active for the last forty years, and never encountered an android with the skills to work and repair others to level you have just demonstrated. Doctors are those who heal others, yes? Then I stand my original designation for your, Dr. Wayneright."

Dorothy considered this as the doorbell rang at the front door many floors below. Robbie's companion, Simon, had returned. After spending a moment to watch Robbie walk and move about on his own, Simon grinned, apparently impressed with her work. "Miss, he looks as good as new! Robbie, I thought you were a goner!"

"I thought I might be in danger as well, Simon."

The older man looked at the android in utter disbelief. "Robbie…. you can talk?!"

Robbie nodded. "The good doctor here was able to fix my vocal circuits. It is a...joy to be able to speak after 20 years of silence."

Dorothy turned to the other android. She had suspected that the corroded circuits were older than his most recent damage, but 20 years?

"Nobody's been able to fix that, even those quacks at Paradigm! Miss, it's not much, but here…" Simon pulled out a tight bundle of twenties. "I can get you more, as soon as the month's out. And damned if I'm not telling everyone that you managed to do what no other robot doc has done! Er… what did you say your name was?"

Dorothy shook Simon's hand, money and all. "Wayneright. Doctor Dorothy Wayneright."


	2. Building a Legacy

Simon had done better than simply paying her the going rate for repair; he'd told many others who relied on androids like Robbie to make a living and survive in Paradigm City. They trickled slowly down to the old mansion at the edge of the dome, looking for help when others had turned them away.

The work did well to keep her processors occupied, but even as the trickle of cases became a steady stream, she found herself still longing to use her subroutines for conversation and interaction. The… need, as it were, for companionship. The very same that had led her back to the doors of the Smith mansion at the death of her father.

For not the first time, Dorothy wondered why she couldn't go back. Why had the idea of Roger seeing her as the machine she was so horrifying? She would still have been able to function as Norman's aide. Something in her core told her she would not have survived being reduced to a silent witness, however; it would have broken her to see him view her the way he did his car. Roger was only interested in mysteries; once hers had been exposed, there was little doubt he'd let his attention focus elsewhere. Someone like Angel; or Big Venus...

Her vision focused on the half finished prototype that, in another life, had defended this great fortress of a lab from intrusion after being warped by Paradigm's selfish will. Compared to her own design, the prototype was little more than a doll; no doubt created by Dr. Wayneright in his quest to use his Memories to replicate his lost daughter, but after the practice, such a limited model would have seemed hardly worth her creator's time.

But Dorothy had no interest at the moment in making a duplicate of herself; beside a few small tweaks based on his ideas, she was still not ready to handle a system as complex as her own. However, finishing and bringing online a simpler model, someone to help with the house and an extra set of hands during the more intensive... 'operations'...

She could only try. At the very least, not just for her own selfish needs, but the legacy of her father… and that need to save one more android from the curse of 40 years ago. She knew the utter ache one felt in their circuits when they were left incomplete; not quite dead, but not able to come online into the world either.

It took longer than she had originally postulated; at first, she worried that there might still be ghosts of Paradigm's evil grip, but instead, as she worked, she found just the common errors of human failing. Her father had apparently tried to do as much of the build himself as possible, and while understandable, his older hands and eyes had led to failures that would have quickly led to a short or overheating. So she had to double back, checking each connection and part to make sure that it worked as she wanted it to.

Finally, Dorothy determined she'd made the android operational, and began the process of bringing the empty shell online. Her father had already installed the basic operational software, but the instructional core was blank. What should she imput? Anything she placed there would help determine the very basis of the new life's personality.

Her memory accessed a data point, of a time with Norman as they sat in the cockpit of Big O. All androids had once followed a core of rules. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. A robot may not injure its own kind and defend its own kind unless it is interfering with the first or second rule. She had herself noted that such instructions were not included in her own programming, at which Norman had chuckled. 'Humans are rarely so altruistic, Miss Dorothy. Your father wanted you as human as possible, so why force you to follow the rules so few humans do?"

It had taken some time for her to understand what the elder gentlemen had meant. Even if she had not been required to follow them, those rules still held true to her heart. It was why, when weighing her own life against Norman's… and Roger's… she had decided she was not worth the fight. She had no right to demand her salvation over theirs.

While she never would regret the decision, she still had suffered for it. Not for the first time, she wondered if she would have been better off destroyed after those horrible days. Never having to feel so helpless… to hear Roger say those words that had cut so hard into her heart….

But she lived. And even if she no longer could fulfill her own original purpose; she would work to give purpose again to others.

So she gave this little android the rules of robotics, so she would never have to make a choice like Dorothy once had. She gave her ...guidelines about what was precious, and what to value and what to fear. But she left room for this new life to make their own choices, to learn, fall and fail, if only to be better for it.

Dorothy was sure, had she been human, her hands would be shaking in nervous excitement as she vocalized the burst of code that acted as the startup activation for the little robot. All Dorothy could do was wait to see if all the work the last week was for naught. So she back in the steel work chair, and waited.

Slowly, there were signs of movement from the operating table. Slowly, the eyelids drew open, and the green optical receptors glowed with power. One hand, then another, drew up to the face, examining them as they explored the extent of their movement capabilities. Only after they had fully explored them, did they return them to the metal table, pushing the petite female form up to a sitting position.

Dorothy watched this all silently, once again impressed by her creator's craftmanship. Though the little android's head system was still exposed, and her eyes were green orbs against black corneas, the look of curiosity was still evident on the face as it looked into the older android's eyes.

"Creator?" The voice contained a surprising amount of intonation, full of curiosity and innocence that Dorothy took a moment to process what the little android actually said, so startled she was by the silence broken.

Dorothy shook her head. "I was the one who brought you online, yes, but the man who truly created you passed away before your completion."

"Doctor Timothy Wayneright…." The green eyes glowed as the information was processed. "Still, he left me incomplete, unable to come online. Would that not mean you, truly, are direct creator? My… mother?"

Again, Dorothy shook her head. "Hardly. But if you would like, I will be your… older sister. Would that be acceptable?" That would do. So curious, like a young child. Why had she never been this expressive when she was brought online? Was it because of the memories of the original Dorothy she was built to replace told her what she needed to be?

"If it is acceptable to you. You did place it in my parameters to assist you in your work. However, you have not yet named me. From the data provided to me, is it not traditional for family to name a new creation?"

"I had wished to allow you some autonomy in the choosing of your name. Likewise with your hair. As an android, there is little available in the way of rights, even in this city. I did not wish to take away such an expression of individuality from you."

The little android watched her 'older sister' with care. Though she had only been briefly connected to Dorothy when she had finished bringing her online, she had seen data points of sadness and despair that the older android hid from herself. Although she kept herself to the monotone of what humans expected from an android, the little android was in awe on the complexity of emotional depth that this superior android had compared to her own systems. True, it was in the nature of robotics for androids to be selfless; but Dorothy had never had such limitations herself; she was programmed to be human, and her selflessness was by choice alone.

"I will have to process the query for a while. In the meantime, will you permit me to borrow some clothes?"


	3. The Jilted Man

While the Wayneright household was welcoming a new inhabitant, the Smith mansion was still dealing with the loss of a body within its walls.

Before R. Dorothy Wayneright had barged into his life, Roger Smith had spent most of his thinking on the couch in his office, close to the giant megadeuce that he piloted and away from the view of the monstrous domes. He had expected, with the enigmatic android's departure, that he'd return to his previous habits, no longer beholden to explain every inconsistency to an outsider.

But even as the Event had wiped her from his life, he found new habits, even those who had been reset, could not be easily broken. If Norman noticed that the Master was up before noon without any intervention, he said nothing of it, nor of the few times the elderly butler had seen the younger man seated at the piano, plunking out the unmistakable tune of miss Dorothy's favorite piece. Even Roger's office, which had been his domain even during Dorothy's residence, felt stuffy and claustrophobic if he stayed inside it too long. Perhaps the little annoyance had rubbed off on him more than he cared to acknowledge.

Although he couldn't blame it all on her. He was avoiding his office the same reason he avoided the massive hangar on the other side of the wall these days. After all the revelations that came to light during the Event and time before it, Roger knew that the megadeuce was more than a simple machine; he'd be hard pressed now to identify which of the two of them controlled the actions of the pair over time. Big O had a presence that Roger could feel in the back of his head; perhaps he always had, but now he was consciously aware of it. And at the moment, he was keenly aware a feeling of… disappointment, or at least a frustration that the megadeuce had with its pilot.

And it was all R. Dorothy Wayneright's fault.

Big O had made *that* issue perfectly clear. When… when he'd offered her the chance to void her contract with him and make her own choices, and she had chosen to walk away, Roger had taken a less than gentlemanly route and squirreled away in the megadeuce cockpit. In the enclosed glass-like dome, he'd ranted out loud of how he felt betrayed that she had been so quick to leave, finding him such a louse she would rather choose a mausoleum than live under the same roof as him, as a free android.

He'd expected silence from the giant robot, or perhaps a mirror of his own sadness and hurt.

Roger had not expected to have the pilot's seat to eject him out of the cockpit with enough force to bloody his nose against the clear crystal collar.

After that, (and after a day to save face while he waited for the swelling to die down), Roger Smith had busied himself with clients and cases, not giving himself enough time to think about what Dorothy would react or respond to each new day. However, after several whirlwind weeks, Roger found himself waiting for a development in a delicate case, leaving him alone with his thoughts on the cold balcony of the Smith mansion.

Once again, their last conversation played like an implanted memory through his mind.

_"__Dorothy, when you came to live here, you did so under the obligation to pay for your protection, right?"_

_"__Yes. I asked you to protect me, and with the death of my creator, it seemed best to aid Norman in serving you here. You saved my life, Roger Smith, and I owe you for that."_

_Roger had nodded and looked away from her, out to the horizon of Paradigm City. "Dorothy… even if the Event of Big Venus has reset the world, you still saved my life several times over. Without your help, Big O would never have defeated Big Fau. I'd say you've paid off your contract twice over. I don't want you to think you have to stay here out of obligation or a contract. And Angel assures me that the Paradigm corporation won't come after you any-"_

_"__You've spoken to Angel?"_

_Roger turned to the android then, startled at the sudden question after such silence. Her red hair, blown wild by the wind, hid her face from him. Not that her emotionless face would have ever hinted at the inner thoughts of R. Dorothy. Was she… jealous? No, she had no reason to be. Probably just curious. "We've spoken a few times since ...that day. She won't tell me everything that happened, but she seems to be doing well at Paradigm. Alex will never again be able to play god with the city, and she says the dangers of the past have been dealt with." He smirked. "She sends her regards, by the way."_

_The slender figure of a girl didn't respond at first. They both stood together in silence, looking toward the giant golden dome that dominated the city before them._

_"__Roger."_

_"__Hmm?"_

_"__If I am no longer your servant, under your employment, what am I?"_

_Roger frowned. Wasn't it obvious? "You're R. Dorothy Wayneright! You're whoever you want to be. Sure, you're an annoying thorn in my side sometimes, but you are more than welcome to continue to stay here. You've proven yourself to be a great asset to Big O and myself, and I know Norman thinks of you as a member of this little family…."_

_He was cut off by the sound of Dorothy landing behind him. "I need to pack."_

_"__Dorothy, what are you talking about?"_

_"__You've released me from my contract, Roger. It's clear that it is time for me to go."_

_"__Dorothy, I didn't mean it like that!"_

_Two sets of dark eyes locked for what seemed like an eon of silence, and Roger felt like something was lost then and had to look away._

_When he'd looked back to her, he had found himself alone on the rooftop patio; Dorothy was already gone._


End file.
